


Of Paracord and Chimeras

by deans_defender



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deans_defender/pseuds/deans_defender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pack, with Scott as their leader, may be a mismatched group, but they've overcome every Big Bad and Villain of the Week life has thrown at them thus far. With most of the Pack scattered attending college, their biggest concern these days is if they'll all be on time for the weekly Skype Pack Attendance Meeting (SPAM). Will someone for their past though bring new strife to their present?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or the one where Stiles' initial act of kindness impacts his life and the Pack's in ways he could never have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Paracord and Chimeras

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will change as the work develops. This is a work in progress with no posting schedule. The relationship tags are guidelines to what could happen or has happened in the past and are vague on purpose, in an effort to preserve some major plot reveals. Please let me know if there are any typos as I am not using a beta and my keyboard quite frankly has seen way too many culinary mishaps.

September 2018

"But Stiles, come on," Scott all but whined as they stepped off the bus and headed home. While they'd been renting their current apartment for over a month, Scott have finally prevailed upon Stiles that taking the bus was the responsible, green thing to do. Stiles guessed it was more because Roscoe had broken down three times in as many weeks and Scott was tired of pushing his baby.

"No Scott, no come on. This isn't high school. I'm not following you to a party again just so you can talk to a girl surrounded by strangers, when you're too bashful to talk to her one-on-one. You're a grown up, top dog even. You don't need my help."

"Stiles!"

"Fine! But the booze better be higher quality than the last party you drug me to and that douche Eric better not be there or I'm leaving." So what if Eric had been a great kisser, a second year graduate student in cultural studies, and hot like burning. He hadn't called and frankly Stiles was over him the moment he left the apartment.

Stiles slowed his approach as they neared a homeless man sitting well off from the edge of the sidewalk partially sheltered under the eaves of a closed mattress shop. Vagrants weren't uncommon in this part of the city but something about this one pulled at Stiles. Perhaps it was because the man was wearing several layers of shirts, one being plaid which was not unlike one he had worn in high school. Perhaps it was because next to the man's glass donation jar was a sign written crisply and neatly in precise, rust-colored letters proclaiming, "Let's Be Honest. I need $$$ for Drugs and Alcohol." Or perhaps it was because the man smelled so bad Scott gagged and zoomed ahead, leaving his best friend in the dust. Whatever it was, in a few seconds as he came nearer, Stiles took in the homeless man's physical details and noticed four other distinctive things about him.

The vagrant seemed to be a man in his twenties, though Stiles wouldn't have bet his life savings on it, which right now consisted of 400 dollars and a pack of Red Vines in his back pocket. Very little of the man's skin peeked out from beneath his unkempt mountain man beard, long hair and the layers of torn, ragged clothing he wore that bulged on one side. Something around the man's haunted eyes spoke still of a younger man. He wore mismatched gloves on each hand and some type of silver chain around his neck that was tucked down the front of his many dirt-covered shirts and army surplus jacket.

Stiles stopped on the sidewalk when he was directly across from the vagrant. "Hey Scott, I'll catch up in a second." 

Scott's head whipped around from up ahead and he finally took notice that Stiles had stopped and why. "Come on Stiles, don't. You can't afford it and he's probably just going to use anything you give him for booze."

"Of course he is, Scotty," Stiles yelled back smartly, pointing. "His sign even says that and honesty after all the lies we've encountered in our short lives must be rewarded. One sec." Taking a crumpled five dollar bill from his front pocket, Stiles briskly approached the homeless man who cast his eyes downward and pulled his arms tight across his body, shrinking into himself. 

Approaching slowly, his eyes threatening to water from the shear odor the man exuded, Stiles carefully deposited the money into the jar without saying anything and cautiously backed up a couple steps. He then turned back to catch up with Scott who had stopped and was doing his subtle-protective Alpha routine, which meant glaring unsubtly in the general direction of possible danger. Stiles was willing to bet the Alpha had learned that from Derek.

 

Continuing on to their new apartment from the bus stop with Scott, Stiles turned over in his mind again and again the four things about this homeless man that made him stand apart, all the while discussing with his best friend the merits of Fallout 4 over the newest sequel. 

He analyzed each detail last to first, with the vagrant's positioning relative to pedestrian traffic the initial detail he thought about. For someone who was hoping to feed his vices through donation, the man was tucked away from the traffic flow and almost hidden. Sure, the store corner might have provided a little bit of a wind break, but it wasn't an effective strategic position for begging at all. Maybe his positioning reflected a subconscious resentment for his plight. Or maybe the minor in psychology Stiles was striving to complete made him full of shit.

He noticed the man's sign third. Not only was it honest, sarcastic even, but the care to which it had been crafted was unique among any he'd seen used by any vagrant before. It had been written on a scrap of white foam board but the edges had been purposefully neatened and rounded. The rust-brown lettering had been neatly done, probably by someone with at least a partial high school education, perhaps maybe an artistic background. Time and careful thought had gone into making the sign readable and from afar unlike typical signs scrawled on brown cardboard with black marker. Sure, it was possible that the man had someone else make his sign, but given how he'd ducked his head and shied away from him, Stiles presumed the man made it himself rather than approach a stranger to help him.

Though he'd ducked his head before making eye contact, there's no way Stiles could have missed the man's eyes. Even front twenty feet away, the man's eyes unique in color and noticeable. However, the thing Stiles noticed first and foremost as he'd neared the man was the young cat sheltered protectively beneath the army surplus jacket he wore. The cat couldn't have been more than three or four months old but was as unique as the man's eyes.

For starters, though only the cat's head and chest peaked out from beneath the man's jacket, Stiles could see that the cat exhibited Chimera traits. While half of its face and neck were covered in a light orange, almost peach-colored fur, the rest of the animal's visible, short fur was light grey. Were it not for a near-exact demarcation of fur colors on each side of his face, the cat might have been simply a lilac tortoiseshell, but it was as if each half of his face were painted a different color. Having one green eye and one eye that matched the man's cemented Stile's guess about the cat's dual genetics.

Just as they made their way up the third flight of stairs to their apartment, Stiles took a deep breath and refocused his thoughts on the party he'd agreed to go to for Scott. After all, as much as something was bugging Stiles about the vagrant they'd passed, it was unlikely he'd ever see the man again.

 ---

"Well, that sucked," Scott said, seated on the couch with his head back, staring at the ceiling. The party had still been in full swing when they'd left but neither had been having much fun. The girl who'd invited Scott to the part had greeted them at the front door - with her boyfriend - and that had set the tone for the rest of the evening.

"Yup," Stiles simply agreed, popping the 'p' at the end of his statement.

"Sorry that douche was there man. Totally didn't think he'd be at an off-campus sophomore's party."

"What can I say, Scotty, I think he prefers his prey younger."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Hey, it's not like you were that into him or didn't know he was a player before hand, you know?"

"Dude, I know. Still..."

"I know, man." They each enjoyed the silence for a while before Scott started talking again. "Do you ever think about him?"

Stiles exhaled noisily. One of the drawbacks of the wolfsbane concoction that allowed Scott to feel the effects of alcohol came at the price of making his best friend very maudlin afterwards. 

Stiles knew where this was going but it was still frustrating. "Of course I do, Scott. We never got our moment but it's been two years. I'm moving on. I've moved on. Have you?"

"I think so. I mean. Kira was great, but--" 

So it was going to be about Allison this time. Lovely. That's just what Stiles needed after a crappy night out. Guilt from the past.

"--but I can't keep thinking that if Allison...if that hadn't happened, if Isaac would have stuck around, you know?"

O-kay. This was a new one. Stiles had had his suspicions in high school about the two but nothing had ever come up so he'd forgotten. The weird, too long gaze each werewolf had given the other when they thought the other wasn't looking made a whole lot more sense now. Damn it. And Stiles called himself observant. 

He reached off and patted Scott's shoulder. "I know buddy, I know. Maybe we can track down scarf man and invite him up for Thanksgiving or Spring Break or something. I'm sure it'd be great to catch up."

"Mmm, maybe." Scott yawned. "I'm headed to bed, I need to study tomorrow and we have the Skype pack meeting. You should get up and go to bed too. You told me to remind you that couch doesn't like you on the way over."

The stupid Craigslist couch had it in for him. So far he'd cut himself on an upholstery staple, lost his keys in it twice, and anytime he thought it'd be nice to take a nap on, he was reminded how foolish this notion was by the resultant back pain he experienced after. "That's why you're my best friend, dude; always have my best interests at heart."

"You know it. Goodnight, man."

"G'nite, Scotty."

 ---

A few blocks away the homeless man from earlier in the day huddled on one of the mattresses left behind when the mattress store had closed. He lay on his side near a single lit candle, looking intently on a photo laminated cheaply between two pieces of clear packing tape. Curled into his side was the lilac tortoiseshell cat, purring contently and kneading his hip. 

"Goodnight, Diana" he said to the cat, his voice little more than a sibilant whisper. He reached down and scratched between the young cat's ears, whose purring increased in volume. 

"Goodnight, You" he told the photo, brushing his thumb gently across its surface before tucking it safely back into his jacket pocket. 

He then leaned over and blew out the candle before settling back onto the mattress. "Goodnight, me." Maybe he'd get a couple hours of sleep tonight, before the dreams began. As he closed his eyes, the acrid smell of the candle's blown out wick reached his nose, reminding him of another time and another place and of how his dreams tonight would be no less brutal than the ones that had always haunted him now.


End file.
